At Bree's cross-town AA meeting, a hangdog-looking man is telling his story about hitting bottom (which turns out to have nothing to do with slapping ass, who knew?), and Bree is busying herself with some needlepoint. Wow, needlepoint. Old-school! The man finishes his lying-in-a-pool-of-his-own-vomit tale, and everyone claps. A semi-hot hemp-ish sort of man, who is tonight's group leader, volunteers Bree to go next. Bree: "Oh, um. I couldn't possibly top that. Thank you, though." Ha! The circle of alcoholics exchange glances.
When the meeting's over, Bree busies herself cleaning up donut crumbs. Holy shit, I would give blood for a donut right about now. Hempy sidles up to her, and she makes a sassy little opener about how "messy substance abusers can be." He comes back with a joke about leaving the crumbs for the Overeaters Anonymous group. "You're awful," Bree flirts. Hempy asks Bree how long she's been sober, but she can't remember. Red flag! Everyone I know who's in AA remembers exactly how long they've been sober. Like, down to the day, hour, even minute. Hempy: "Oh...Is somebody still drinking?" Bree: "Now, why would you say that?" Hempy: "I've never an alcoholic yet who didn't know exactly how long it'd been since his last drink." Exactly! So Bree levels with him that she's not really an alcoholic. Hempy: "You don't say!" She explains that she's only coming to meetings to make it look like she's a willing and responsible parent, so that she can beat Andrew's emancipated-minor lawsuit. Hempy clearly doesn't believe Bree about the not-being-a-lush thing, but he's very nice about it: he gives her his card and invites her to contact him if she ever needs to talk or anything. Bree, still in flirt mode, says she knows what he thinks, but that, really, she's "nothing like" Hempy and the other alkies. Ugh. Bree, with MAVO-style brightness: "I just don't have a compulsive personality!" She turns and leaves, and Hempy looks down at the donut table, which is compulsively tidy, the napkins expertly arranged. And cue the lonely "delusional alcoholic" oboe.
And over to Lynette, who is in her office, and cutting the string off a pink box of...donuts. You see the way they did that? Lynette is trying to lure a friend/former coworker named Veronica (whose shirt is unbuttoned to reveal tightly compressed barmaid's cleavage to rival Bossy Boobs's) away from the Veronica's current place of employment. But Veronica and her breasts aren't all that impressed with the salary Lynette's offering. Lynette tries to sweeten the deal with mention of an expense account and a corner office. Hm, well, Veronica and her breasts need to think about it. But first: another donut! Lynette: "Okay, what is your secret? How can you eat like that and keep your figure?" Veronica and her breasts dish that it's all thanks to the breastfeeding, which she describes as "like having a treadmill strapped to your chest." Which is a somewhat problematic metaphor? Like, her breasts are exercise equipment? But then...how would she exercise on her own breasts? Are other people running on her breasts? Is that what keeps the weight off? Lynette coos that she didn't know Veronica and her breasts have a child, and Veronica and her breasts coo that indeed they do: his name is Donovan and he's the "love of [her] life." And this reminds Lynette of one more perk: the office daycare plan!